Silent Moments
by Dusked
Summary: A hot sweat replaced the cold, and his heart started beating faster, blood rushing around his body at such a high-speed he coughed out the one thing he'd wanted to tell her since she'd arrived. "You're the only one I can run to, Granger." She is a prisoner in his home, and that is all he should see her as. One-shot, AU-EWE. Draco x Hermione - Romance/Hurt-Comfort. Smut.


**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This fanfic is AU, and throughout it switches between both Hermione and Draco's point of views (Though, it is mostly Draco). For the sake of this plot, the characters may be out-of-character. The writing may be different with the sex scenes to the rest of the fic, (and will be the longest and most detailed scene most likely), as it tends to end up that way. _Tell me what you think!_**

**It might be fast-paced, but I've tried my best to slow it down or have a good pacing.**

**Not quite sure where this idea came from, perhaps my subconscious picked up inspiration from other fics. This was one of many new fics to come, some Dramione, some with new pairings which are driving me insane, but I cannot wait to experiment with nonetheless. I hope you enjoy.**

**Thank you to my beta: _RoseWeasley3__._  
**

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**Disclaimer: **The rights to _Harry Potter_ are in the ownership of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfic has only been written for fun, and other readers/writers entertainment.

**Rating: **M+/NC-17.

**Warning(s): **Strong sexual content/themes, implied violence (off-screen), and some explicit profanity.

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_**SILENT MOMENTS**_

_**By: Dusked**_

* * *

**_Friday, April 3rd, 1998; Malfoy Manor, (Evening)_**

He observed her with morbid curiosity as she tore at the bread roll with dirty, grime covered hands.

It was intriguing – how a shy innocent creature like she, could feast so savagely upon such little rations without even flicker of interest in her one-man audience, like an animal starved of nourishment for months.

Reality was slightly kinder, as she received a rare ration of food each day, unlike many other prisoners' of the Dark Lord's. A small, decent amount to hush the persistent grumbles in her stomach, but not quite enough to settle the longing ache or to fuel her remaining energy.

Weeks had already passed and so far she hadn't provided any answers.

Against his better judgment, he begged from within for her to give up any source of information, to just drop the honourable Gryffindor pride, as he couldn't stand to witness her slowly wither away in the dark, gnawing shadows.

**...**

"_Wait!"_

It hadn't been her words, per se, but rather the desperate urgency her tone held that had made Draco freeze in the doorway. Unusual; he'd always been instructed to ignore the pleas and walk away, and it had always come easily for any other prisoner. He had no reason to stop for anyone before, but he did.

And _she _happened to be that reason.

Growling, he barked, _"What?"_

Surprisingly, she reddened to the roots of her hair and chewed on her bottom lip. He watched as her throat bobbed on a nervous swallow before she quietly murmured, "Thank you – for the food."

He ignored the jerk that shocked Granger's body as he spun around, teeth bared. "Don't get used to it, Mudblood." The word seemed to have become a slip of the tongue now, rather than necessity. "There isn't anymore where that came from, especially since you've listened to that idiotic brain of yours."

What the hell was wrong with him? He was angry _for _her! If any flaw were found in the girl's ideas, she'd be the first to bloody correct it.

"I don't know what you're –"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, so don't give me that bullshit, Granger," he hissed, throwing his arms up; a fuse had blown, unleashing a burst of anger. "_News flash, _your 'logical' idea of _not giving answers _is only going to get you killed. Stop with the loyalty act to your little friends, or the old git Dumbledore, or whoever you're doing it for. Do you understand what I'm saying? Keep this up, and you won't live to see the end of the month."

She shook her head, and he detected the slightest bit of determination on her face. It seemed, just like a piece of broken glass, she was that one beautiful shard that managed to steal a single ray of light, allowing a prism of colours to fall across her path. "Never," she whispered, straightening her back, as her voice was bold with defiance. "Even if it _does _kill me."

**...**

**_Tuesday, April 7th, 1998, (Evening)_**

Bruised and bloodied, she winced as he pressed a damp cloth to a gash that ran down her forehead and eyebrow.

To be frank, she looked worse than ever; more so than when she'd been dragged, tortured and then chained in Malfoy Manor after being cornered by Snatchers in the Forest of Dean. And each time he caught a glimpse of her a slither of guilt appeared, leaking into his veins.

As he healed most of her wounds, he could not help but voice his thoughts, "I did tell you this would happen."

"I know," she croaked, a splatter of blood trickling down her bottom lip, "but it didn't change anything then, and it won't change anything now."

By now, she looked close to Death's door. Most wounds sealed – courtesy of his aunt's command, to prepare her for further questioning – but she was weak and still wheezing from where a cracked rib had punctured her lung; had Draco not dropped a visit, surely he'd be greeted with a cold, blue-lipped girl lying motionless on the stone floor.

Frustrated, he chucked the rag into the bucket and yanked his sleeves back down. "You're a fool, Granger," he snarled quietly, shaking his head. "Just look at yourself: barely able to stand because your bones have been broken so many times, looking like shit, and yet you still cling to this toxic hope that you're going to get out."

"Oh, so you suddenly care, do you, Malfoy?" she shot back, and through the blood staining her face, he noticed the red blotches of her temper beginning to arise. "There's something wrong with you for showing concern when it comes to my injuries, and constantly reminding me of what a huge mistake I'm making!"

Did he care?

God, he didn't know; he was so twisted and crumpled and just _strained _from everything that was happening – what was happening to _her –_ that he just _didn't know _how he felt anymore. Sure, he felt strange sensations – new one's at that – but it didn't mean he knew what they were. These new experiences of feelings weren't something he was comfortable with, either. What was happening to him was unnerving, and not only that, but what _would_ happen to him in the future.

And the most alarming thing was that it was all happening _so fast._

The scoff that burst past his lips didn't match the expression on his face. "No, there isn't anything wrong with me. Your sharp mind obviously hasn't figured out that the only explanation for my behaviour is because I'm the closest thing to human in this fucked up place." He caught the sense of realisation in her glistening, brown eyes. "So, unfortunately, in here – nothing is saner than _me. _Although, I've realised, my time bomb of delusion and insanity is slowly ticking to its _end._"

He allowed his mask be ripped away – it happened a lot lately, Granger being the primary cause. Maybe it was because of these new feelings again and she was the closest thing to somewhat of comfort while stuck in what he called house arrest. Dislike and half-hearted insults did get thrown at each other, but in truth, without her he'd end up an unhinged, shell of a man.

With that, he stormed from the cell, ignoring the tightening in his chest from their bitter moments.

**...**

**_Wednesday, April 8th, 1998, (Night)_**

He'd never found decisions difficult – well, with the few that he'd handled.

This one was far simpler than the others, which ultimately made it all the more difficult and foolish. It was an easy choice, one a child could make. Damn the unnecessary battle between right and wrong that was taking place between his thoughts and his conscience.

Over in the dim wet corner, he watched her shaking form. Curled in on herself, goosebumps filmed her skin, and she shivered as cold shocks lashed at her spine. _Vulnerable._

He felt it again, that coil of guilt wrapping around his torso like an iron bar and squeezing until he grew light-headed and his blood was racing. He didn't recognise these feelings, and he wasn't sure how to react towards them. Being forced to see her like this conflicted his feelings, fighting to choose the right option.

If he chose to help her, perhaps that would make him feel better about himself, or decrease the chances of him losing his mind. However, if he did there was the vast risk of it becoming known to the fellow Death-Eaters, resulting in either punishment or even death. Unless he had skill or some sort of plan to avoid any tracking, no odds would be on his side.

After another flinch came from Granger, he decided he'd had enough and shrugged off his jacket, holding it out in offer.

Sensing his presence, she gazed up at him and eyed the jacket with intrigue. She moistened her lips with the quick, dash of her tongue. "Who's that for?"

"Obviously not for me," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Take it."

She shook her head and scooted back slightly. "I can't do that, Malfoy, it's yours."

"Yes, and now that we've established that –" Before she could protest, he took a stride and was in front of her, slinging the fabric around her shoulders and pulling it together. "It's not much, but I suppose it'll do. The only problem is I'll have to return for it in a few hours."

Though still appearing reluctant, she snuggled further into the soft and warmth. "Thanks," she mumbled. "But...what if I make it dirty?"

That question didn't need explaining about what it really meant underneath. She was questioning his blood views. From now on, she'd continue to think him like that: the pure-blooded boy that would forever hold a superior, prejudiced opinion of those of a lower status. Of course, no one knew that he'd never accepted those views. He'd been raised in that type of environment; judgements drilled into his mind against his will and he had only used them to escape his parents – particularly his father's – abandonment.

It was selfish, he knew, and he wanted to change that.

Sighing, he shook his head. "I don't care about that, Granger. I really don't."

**...**

**_Saturday, April 12th, 1998, (Night)_**

Tears flooded his eyes as he focused on her, bunched up in a tight ball in the corner.

In a way, he cried for her because of what he'd done just minutes before.

How – purely for the Dark Lord's corrupt pleasure – he'd been ordered to murder a Muggle-born with several other Death-Eaters present, the grisly task carried out with the knowledge that the victim had a wife and two children, and how he'd begged and wept for mercy. What if it was Granger next and he was the one to fulfill the deed? A stranger had been traumatic enough, and he knew it would cross the boundary to lunacy if performed on one whom he was familiar with.

She didn't ask what had happened, didn't speak at all; the answer was clear from his pallid skin and trembling hands.

What she did do, however, was something that provoked a complete unbridle of emotion.

Thin, skeleton-like arms folded around his waist, and a head rested on his chest, a cloak of greasy and knotted curls muffling his mouth. In return his arms crisscrossed over her back and tugged her body to his, thieving the small piece of warmth and consolation he sought.

Pushing her off would've been his usual option, but now, he just couldn't do that. He forgot the dirt and the smell that covered her body, forgot about her blood-status and how he hated her.

That was the problem, though – he _didn't _hate her. From the way his eyes had been opened to the treatment to her kind; he'd realised it was immoral and evil because she was no different to anyone else. No different to _him_. She was just Hermione Granger.

He couldn't hate her. Not now. Not anymore.

And then she not once complained when he held her tighter, or when he tangled his hand into her matted amber-bronze locks, and when he sobbed uncontrollably into the soft crook of neck, she soothed him, cradling his head and running her free hand over his back. In that silent moment, they were not enemies, but two people fabricating what both unknowingly hoped would be the one thing they wanted – _companionship._

The peace remained, and she stayed quiet, holding him, as it was all she could offer and all he needed because sometimes not saying anything was the most powerful way of communication.

**...**

**_Sunday, April 19th, 1998, (Night)_**

With her mouth watering, she seized the cold roast potatoes he held in his palms. Draco smiled a little – a gesture by the fault of Granger again – but also from himself as he'd grown more open and civil towards her. Silly, he knew, given it had only been a week since the 'hug', but he believed he'd grown accustomed to her so quickly because throughout his life he'd been denied any sort of affection or good nature, even from his parents.

"Calm down, Granger," he chuckled quietly; the sound was natural and refreshing, though low enough for it to have been inaudible to her. "That wasn't easy to get or hide, so savour it. It'll be months before I can pull a move like that again."

Her joyful expression melted into one of awareness and despondency, and she peeked through the slits of her eyelashes. "Months?"

_Shit._

He hesitated for a second before taking the space next to her, ensuring there was a right amount of distance between their bodies. As always, these new feelings were beginning to play with him; the more he spent time with Granger, the easier it was in her company, talk with her, _like _her.

This kind of 'liking' had morphed into something entirely novel for him. Yes, he'd become more open and civil towards her, but it was because of this whole liking crap! Sitting next to her was hard enough, as he'd support a wild pulse in his neck and his blood would boil with heat – all because of Granger. It was unfamiliar, unnatural and just plain scary, but mostly, he..._craved _it.

"I prefer to say months than..._not knowing_."

She nodded and then they fell into silence. God, he hated silence. Especially this one, as he could hear Granger's light puffs of breath and her bare bit of body heat radiating along any of his exposed skin. He felt himself starting to breathe a lot heavier, inhaling deeply through his nostrils, as his fists clenched at his sides, and his nails cutting his palms, hard enough it almost drew blood. _Fuck, _had he known it would be this bloody confusing and difficult to restrain himself, he wouldn't have sat next to her.

"Malfoy?"

It felt like cold water had been poured down his back. From her tone, what followed wasn't good. "Yeah?"

When she spoke, her voice was weak, uncertain, "What goes on outside these four walls?"

He stiffened and a growl rumbled in his chest. "Trust me, Granger, you do not want me to answer –"

"_Please_, Malfoy."

Should he tell her? Truth be told, he'd wanted to talk to _anyone _about this war, to free this pain and guilt and cleanse the blood on his hands that he was now burdened with. Remove the horrid, terrifying nightmares that tormented him and be able to just _live _with himself.

"What happens outside these walls could give Hell a run for its money," he said finally, a lump thickening in throat. "Sometimes...it doesn't even feel _real. _As if we're trapped in this box that suffocates you, drains all positivity and life. They define evil. _I _define evil –"

"No, you're not." Her heard the sad note in her voice.

"Yes, I am, Granger," he said, and if the snap in his response offended her, she didn't show it. "And I have the Mark to prove it."

She moistened her lips. "Prove it to me, then."

"What? No, Granger –"

Before he could finish, she'd fisted his sleeve and yanked it up, exposing the disgusting brand, coiling and writhing on his bare, pasty flesh. For such a gaunt looking girl, she had strength, as he couldn't pull his arm back even if he tried. He felt sweat dot his upper lip as she inspected it with interest.

And then, with the little breath he had, it hitched in the back of his throat when she lifted a tremulous hand and... traced the thick, black contours of the brand with the tip of her finger. _Gods, _the basic gesture managed to send all blood to his cheeks and fiery sparks that nearly reached the tips of his hair. "Granger, what are you doing?"

Shrugging, she continued her exploration with light, feathery touches. "I wanted to see what it felt like."

"And?"

"_And,_" she mirrored, finally looking up at him with a steady gaze, "it just feels like a tattoo to me."

He released a revolted sigh; not to her, but himself. "It may look and feel like a tattoo, but it's really the brand of what I've continually said I am. _Evil._"

The touching stopped, and he felt his heart jump. After a single heartbeat, she ran her hand down until it was hovering over his, and hesitantly linked their fingers. It was warm, soft and just plain amazing, and he indulged in the rare sentiment and feel that she may just care about him. "No, it doesn't show you're evil," she murmured with a sad smile, "it shows the life you had to sacrifice."

**...**

**_Tuesday, 21st April, 1998, (Night)_**

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy, what happened?"

He sighed and rubbed the side of his face, hoping the movement would obscure the dark, blue bruise forming around his left eye. He'd been told that if he used a charm to hide it he'd be getting plenty more where that came from. "It's nothing."

"Yes, it definitely looks like nothing," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "What happened?"

Over the past few weeks, she'd returned to her old self – bossy, annoying, and he'd seemed to gain some of his own traits by the way she'd slide in a sardonic remark. Her sense of humour wasn't enough to make him spill; he was still attempting to force back the bile in his throat and rid the taste of vomit from his mouth. "No, really, Granger –"

"I've seen horrifying things, too," she said softly. "Talking to someone can help."

As embarrassing as it was, sweat had already slicked his neck and back from her kindness, but it was cold and clammy from the earlier events. He nodded and tried to swallow, his mouth drying and feeling fuzzy. "According to my Aunt..._vomiting _is considered weak when being forced to watch a woman being raped by Death-Eaters."

She pressed a hand to her mouth as she sucked a gasp through her lips. "Oh, God, _Malfoy..._"

"I-it's fine," he managed in a crisp whisper, sniffing as he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "I've seen worse."

"That may be so, but you shouldn't be seeing any of it. Haven't you a room you can go to?"

He batted the strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with clumps of emotion. "Yeah, but I can't run and hide away. If I try, they stop me and hold me back – force me to view whatever sick acts they want to perform next. Occasionally, they'll tie me down to a chair and hold my head, so I _have _to witness it, _forced _to – to watch women, even girls as young as fourteen, get raped _over _and _over._" A hand fell on his arm, gently stroking, and that was enough to let the tear break from his lids. "And then...they _kill _them, _murder _them and throw them away, like they're some kind of trash, a waste. And I'm screaming, and vomiting, and begging them to just _stop, _but they don't listen. They never do..."

"It's okay," he felt the low murmur in his ear, and the delicate fan of her breath. "It's okay..."

His mind was screeching, and the familiar tightening in his lungs returned. A hot sweat replaced the cold, and his heart started beating faster, blood rushing around his body at such a high-speed he coughed out the one thing he'd wanted to tell her since she'd arrived. "You're the only one I can run to, Granger."

_Shite._

_Double, double shite._

The second the words fell from his mouth he knew he shouldn't have said them, as the conversation slowly died into that still, silent moment, the ones that had an unknown outcome. One that could either be waited out uncertainly to see what would follow, or dismiss it and forget with the chance to find out what could've happened.

From the way Granger lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him with wide eyes, told him he wasn't the only one who'd had these thoughts.

He'd never been the person to act upon a whim; usually, it was the girl who'd thrown themselves at him, and he'd gone with the flow. This time was different, though; he didn't know why, it just was. And not only did he want an outcome, but _he _wanted to act on this moment.

After a few more agonising seconds of watching Granger's fiddling hands and nervous lip-biting, he knew it was now or never.

With slow and cautious movement, he leant forward, now desperate to just get that _one _brush of lips, _one _taste of her, though completely in two minds if he should be even doing this, and _what _he was going to do once their lips did touch.

He caught her leaning towards him slightly as well, and they'd been a breath away when the dim candlelight above his head suddenly flickered over her, highlighting each, tiny little detail, and he froze. Paralysed.

It was exposure – that was the most correct way to describe it. She was hollow-cheeked, the golden-orange glow intensified her thin bone structure, and staining the left side of her face, yellowing bruises and brown, dirty cuts stood out from where she'd been battered and ill-treated so many times. Until now, he'd been at a distance and so never saw the extent of her abuse. He couldn't do this, for her sake, because if he continued to kiss her, it would only twist and fuck up her emotions more.

"No," he breathed, pulling away. "We can't."

That loss of a simple connection actually gave him pain, a dull ache throbbing in his chest from the yearning of something more in his life.

She blinked twice, and then frowned, dropping her head as a furious flush painted her neck and cheeks. "Oh," she mumbled, twirling a loose curl around her finger; he took that as a bad sign, as he'd discovered over their amity that it meant she was nervous or humiliated. "It's late... I...you should go get some rest."

"Right...," he nodded slowly. Neither of them was tired, and he'd just clarified that his earlier doubts were wrong, and that he should've just swooped in for a kiss. Would've just..._done it. _And now, she wanted him to leave. He deserved to be kicked out, as he'd clearly hurt her, but for some reason he wanted her to tell him she'd wanted to kiss him too. He wanted truth, honesty. "Goodnight, then."

Stripped emotionally, and with the unpleasant thumping of his heart, he left without another word.

**...**

**_Wednesday, 22nd April, 1998, (Evening)_**

At the next food call, the matter from the previous night seemed to have been forgotten.

He'd had to bite his tongue to stem the profuse apologies that tapped against his teeth and the longing to talk to her. Simply seeing her in that short time frame was enough to grab at his heart. And she'd settled for a smile as a 'thank you'. If anyone asked him in the future, he could confidently say that his world peaked at its dangerous level, and came crashing down, and that he'd remember at this precise moment, he was falling for the lost, fractured girl.

**...**

**_Thursday, 23rd April, 1998, (Night)_**

"Isn't it dangerous for you to keep visiting?"

He shrugged and noticed she was shivering again, so inched closer to her. "Yes," he smirked. "but luckily, it just so happens that it's only us and a few house-elves are here tonight."

"What?" she blurted out, her brow creased with confusion. "How – how is that possible? I thought this was a meeting place for Death-Eaters? Is...are you even allowed to stay here alone? With me?"

"Of course I'm not allowed." The smirk on his face slipped, and he averted his gaze. "Malfoy Manor _is _a meeting place, but to only a handful of Death-Eaters. Despite being ones themselves, my parents demand respect for their home – it's a pity they can't stretch that to their own son," he spat bitterly, a vein pumping in his clenched jaw. "Every now and then – on the nights I've visited you that weren't food calls – they leave for a few days, maybe a week, to go out to..._hunt._ And then that leaves me, our house-elves, and you."

She clamped her hand around his as she leant into him, chewing on her chapped and blue, torn up lips from where she'd been worrying them so much. "What do you do when you're alone?"

Frowning, he scratched the back of his head. What an odd question. He'd expected her to go down the uncomfortable route of asking what his Aunt and her rally of minions were hunting. He was relieved, to say the least.

His cheeks blossomed with a crimson-blush. Thank God the cell was dim-lit. "Besides seeing you I'll stay in my room, or –" He swallowed, though not really knowing why it made him tense. "– _clean._"

"You? _Cleaning? _Bloody hell."

Her muffled giggle, coupled with the delighted glittering in her eyes, quickly caused an erratic rhythm to his heartbeats. "Laugh it up, Granger, but it's the only other thing I can do."

"You have house-elves, Malfoy."

Her eyebrow was raised, as her whole face had changed when he'd mentioned the house-elves. He admired her, really. How dedicated she was four years ago with her fight to gain the house-elves freedom and the same rights as wizards, and ban the ill-treatment and almost slavery they suffered, which was well documented with her S.P.E.W badges and endless encouragement to her fellow students. He knew, however, that if she ignored the disband and tried to restart and further establish it as a legislation, that she'd mostly likely fail, the International Confederation of Wizards slamming her case before she'd even argued for it.

"I've magic too, but I don't use that either."

"You – you do it all yourself? No magic, no house-elves, nothing?" She was wide-eyed, but with wonderment and surprise. "Well, this must be an alternative universe. Why do you do it without any help?"

Shrugging again, he searched for the answer. It was there, within the nooks and crannies of his mind. And then it was there, at the forefront of his mind. "At the moment, magic sickens me. The way it's used and manipulated makes me not want to be a wizard. I want to Obliviate those memories, but I can't because as soon as I touch my wand and I get that shock of magic through my body, it physically makes me sick. Manual labour helps me forget about this world, and the way it's changing." His heart was thumping in his throat by now, and it felt like he'd soon choke on it. "_You _help me forget."

And that was when it happened, again.

The silence seeped between them, and she was the one who leant forward first. Everything around them became distorted and misty, as if sinking in the deepest parts of an ocean. Letting out a shuddering breath, he held her firm stare. "Granger –"

He was cut off as she crushed her mouth to his, and straight away, he surrendered; the sensations and taste and feel was overwhelming, consuming his whole being with the gentle, light tugs and pulls of her lips, and it was like two innocent yet eager youngsters attempting a first kiss, starting off hesitant and careful, but then slowly increasing the pressure and deepening it, relishing in the feel of their mingling sighs.

She drew trails over his head, her rough nails igniting flares of electricity over his tender scalp and smothered his groan against her soft, sweet-flavoured lips. Within a few minutes, she pulled back. "Wait."

Inside, he cursed if she'd decided this was a bad idea and that it shouldn't have happened. After weeks of dealing with his new-found feelings and burning sexual tension, he'd finally been able to curb the hunger and he wanted more. "What? What is it?"

A flush bloomed over her neck and face, and she licked her lips. "I'm – I'm all..._dirty._"

She was dirty, but in a literal sense, as in the black smudges coating her skin, and the faint stench of hardly being washed, but he'd grown so used to it that it didn't bother him. He didn't care. On most daily occurrences, he'd be the one to dispose of rotting bodies and corpses, and so the odour had been burned into his nostrils and mouth and he'd learnt to ignore it, and force it to the back of his mind.

"No," he said, and bent down to press a lingering kiss to her mouth before letting his forehead touch hers. It was the double-meaning again. "You're not, Granger. We're equals, right? We're the same. If you're dirty then I guess I am too."

And then she beamed, and answered with another kiss, harder this time. Heedfully, he ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened to him, moaning into his mouth as her tongue tangled with his. An explosion of her natural scent of cinnamon filled his nostrils as he breathed her in, and stroked at his taste buds, creating a tempting thirst for more so he could drink his fill.

Through the passionate kisses, he sensed something was slightly off by Granger's shaking hands as she held his face, and even though she was fiery and hard with her intimacy there was a lack of skill in her urgency. "Granger," he whispered, slowing the kiss and breaking it until they were barely touching. Her lips were moist from their hard snogging, and he could pick out the specks of dust that were trapped between the strands of her hair. "Have you done this before?"

He wasn't even sure was 'this' was. A bit of fumbling? Full-blown sex? He'd shriek to the heavens if she'd allow him the latter, but then again, she wasn't some toy that he could use. Kissing and touching her was enough to make him burst. He waited for her answer, and felt a twinge of jealously if she'd already crossed that line, and even more so if it was shared with a man of expertise.

"Yes," she said breathlessly, "but only once."

His lips were thick and swollen as he spoke, "Do you want to do it now?"

She nodded and lined the sharp angle of his jaw with her index. "Yes," she repeated, and swallowed hard. "I've never had that feeling of being wanted, not even with my first time, and that's all I wish for, Draco."

Breath hitching in his throat from the melody of his name being whispered for the first time, he nodded and inclined his head, capturing her lips for a third time. A promise. An oath. He swallowed her moan of utter pleasure when he detached his lips to latch onto the supple skin of her throat and ran his calloused hands down her sides and over her breasts, risking the move of ringing his thumbs over her covered nipples, and felt them bead under his shy touch.

Gasps fluttered along his forehead as he sucked and nibbled on her neck, leaving small indents and light-blue marks. Stabbing her nails into his shoulders, she panted, "_Touch me._"

He fisted the hem of her torn and tattered sweater and hiked it up her body, tossing it behind him once he'd removed it. A chill wafted over her body, as she shuddered, and so Draco gathered her into his arms, catching her dusky-pink nipples peek beneath her flimsy, plain bra and feeling them pucker from the skim of the scratchy fabric of his shirt. Shedding that as well, he was left with his naked and slightly sweat-slicked chest revealed. It apparently pleased Granger, as she examined him through half-lidded eyes, and their elevated breaths clashed between them.

Her anxiety and arousal were so closely entwined, he couldn't tell the difference; the shakes in her thighs, angry rouge in her cheeks and the short, laborious heaves of her breaths could've been embarrassment or fear, or the instinctive bodily responses – even the slim possibility that she enjoyed it, and _wanted _it, but he couldn't bloody distinguish them.

"Make the decision now, Granger, whether or not you really want this," he asked with the hint of urgency, the tight stain in his pants was starting to become bothersome. "Or I'm going to have to leave and take a cold shower."

She hooked her legs around his waist and ground against him, a surge of even more blood shooting to his groin. "I want this, Draco – I _need _this. Please."

Nodding, he unzipped her jeans and dragged them down her legs, briefly stunned into silence at the curves of her knees and ankles and smoothness of her skin – it was the one place that was the least harmed, only a few small cuts and blemishes that were semi-healed – but even with her imperfections and insecurities, she just looked so damned _beautiful._

With the persistent pulling on his trousers, he hurriedly unbuckled and shimmied out of them and his boxers, throwing them into the growing pile of clothes in the corner. He resisted tearing away her knickers from the enthusiastic desire pumping in his veins, and so instead peeled the damp fabric away, exposing the chestnut-coloured crest of hair at the triangle of her thighs; his mouth watering at the red, glistening flesh, and she moaned and writhed as he raked his hands down her legs.

"Last chance, Granger –"

She chuckled and pulled his head down for another hard, breath-stealing kiss. "Oh, shut up, will you?"

Draco laughed against her lips, and ducked his hand between her thighs to check if she was ready. She was; her wetness sliding between his fingers, and he wanted to tease her, lightly rubbing against her most sensitive spot whilst licking and biting her irregular pulse. Each whimper that brushed at his face was like a singular spark of pleasure, and then he removed his hand, aligning himself into the correct position.

Gyrating her hips against his, the length of him slid between her silken folds. It was that now or never feeling again. Except this time, the answer was clear.

Along with her encouraging smile, he tilted her hips up and slowly entered her, and felt her part, enveloping him in a pillow of warmth and wetness. He felt her twinge at the feel of being stretched, rippling and expanding to accommodate him, but his soothing lips and tongue against her neck and chest permitted him access.

Placing his hands on either side of her head, he asked, "This okay?"

"Oh, _god, yes,_" she gasped, gripping onto his brawn shoulders, as he eased her by sliding in part of the way before pulling back out again until his sensitive, engorged tip was pressed against her entrance. Tight with inexperience and nerves, he reached up and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, trying to hold back as she clenched around him in a grip of steel, but in a bed of silk. And he had to wet his dry lips as she parted her mouth and wrapped it around his thumb, lightly running her tongue over it. She pulled back, only to whisper huskily, "I _need _to feel more of you, Draco – _please._"

This time, he pushed all the way in until he was fully embedded in her, their pelvises locked and chests touching, and he stilled to rest and let them just _feel _each other. One breath passed, and they stared at one another, not speaking for this cherished moment. He let his guard slip and he watched as emotion flickered in Granger's eyes – one that frightened, yet excited him.

She feathered her hand across his cheek and he let his lids flutter shut at the gentle caress. He never would have imagined this, conjured up any pictures of him fucking – no, _making love _– with Granger. Ex-sworn enemies. And he loved all of it.

A part of him, on a non-sexual level, he felt he _understood _what all this feeling was about, as he only the day before. At first, he'd believed it was more a simple disruption in his life, but it wasn't. It never was. She'd started as a weakness for him, a thing he nearly always craved, but now, she was his strength. She was the one who taught him how to smile again. How to live.

Gasping with each push, he groaned against her lips, "You're going to be the death of me, Granger."

It was unhurried, measured, a chorus of blended moans and sighs fluttering across their connected lips, and Draco showed her how much he treasured this by taking his time, as limited as it was. Often, he would cup her breast or lightly nip and kiss her jaw or along her neck; or he would simply rest his forehead against hers and stare into those brown eyes that spoke a thousand words.

His pace remained slow, and he teased purring moans from her sweet, kiss-swollen lips with slow, cautious lunges of his hips. And from the way she met each of his thrusts and her soft cries ricocheted around the walls, he was hitting that over-sensitized spot deep within her. "_Oh, Draco!"_

Alternating between long, deep thrusts and circling the nub of flesh at the top, she soon shattered, releasing a lamenting cry and bowing her back as the swell in her stomach burst, a wave of pure and intense bliss liquifying her bones, and she shuddered it all out until the hum of sensations tingled around her body.

In the awe-striking sight of her rapture and her convulsing around him, it lead him closer to his orgasm, and he fell with a throaty groan into a pit of sheer ecstasy, as white, magnificent light exploded behind his lids. His muscles tensed and he broke out in a hot sweat, the storm of euphoria blazing through him. Having only slept with the same two people since the age of sixteen, this was by far, the best he'd had. Not because of the fact it was sex, but because unlike the other times, he _cared _for his significant other.

Rolling off her, he pulled her into the cradle of his arms, and clustered lazy, open-mouthed kisses along her flushed chest, as she traced absent-minded patterns on his back and hip, lulling him into a calming state of pure relaxation.

For the first time since age eleven, he felt whole.

**...**

Forty-five minutes had passed.

Over that short period, Draco's mind had wandered into a state of semi-concsiousness, and into a pit of something he'd never thought of plunging into before.

She couldn't stay here now, she'd have to be freed, or escape. Either that or be killed – but he couldn't take that risk. He might be spared, but her, no, of course she wouldn't. She was dirty enough as it was to them, and to find out she'd slept with a pureblood would settle their conclusion. Even if he gave himself up, that he was the one who made the move, they'd dismiss him, and twist it into a exaggerated lie of him tainting his blood and family.

Glancing down at her sleeping form; her lashes fluttering and mouth parted, he felt the tears stab at the corners and he tightened his arms around her, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, and drunk up her scent in hope to imprint it into his senses.

It took a few more minutes to finalise his decision.

He knew what he had to do. And soon.

**...**

**_Friday, May 1st, 1998, (Night)_**

The coin was stone cold in his hand.

Granger was wrapped around his body, every so often smoothing her lips over his jaw, causing his chest to clench. He tightened his hold around her, savouring her touch, and trying to just _remember _this silent moment and all other silent moments they'd shared, as soon, that would stop.

This had been planned for some time now, and there no time to sugar coat it or ease her in. He needed to tell her, as it was for the best. For her safety.

Swallowing and dragging in a strangled breath, he said quietly, "You need to leave, Granger."

Her head lifted from his shoulder; perhaps she was unsure as to whether he even spoke. "_What?_"

He had to separate himself from her side, or he'd never be able to leave. When he looked at her, her face was a cross between uncertainty and hurt. "Today, Granger, you are going to leave Malfoy Manor and go back to your friends. Where you'll be safe, understand?"

"What? N-no –"

"I've been planning this for the past week," he interrupted, closing his eyes to avoid her watery gaze, or that image would haunt him for years. "I've made sure that my parents or my aunt aren't here, and I've set a certain time limit for the wards to go down so you can pass undetected. You've only ten minutes, so you need to do this now."

She grabbed his hand, clammy with cold sweat. "Draco, I'm not leaving you –"

Opening his eyes, he let the tears and emotions fall that had been bottled up for the past few days, and he reached up to cup her cheeks, feeling moistness there, too. "I think I might love you, Granger." Her lips parted in a gasp, but he cut her off before she could respond. "I have for a while, and it took me long to realise, but I do. You're everything I've ever needed in my life. Just something worth waking up to, and looking forward to before going to sleep at night. And this is the only way I can protect you, okay? I can't lose you after I've only just got you."

And then he bent down to kiss her, pushing all feeling and love into it as much as he could, and she returned it, twisting her hands in his hair to pull him closer, their tears merging into one trail. She pulled back first to plead, "Don't do this, Draco, you know you don't want to –"

"Of course I don't," he said with a light chuckle, but it wasn't filled with humour, and he stroked away the tear from her face with the pad of his thumb, "but it's the only way."

He opened her hand then, and placed a single peck of his lips to her palm. A promise. "I'll find you again."

"_Draco, no_!"

Before she could stop him, he slapped the coin into her hand, feeling the air adjust to the tug of the Portkey. And then there was a slap of wind across his skin, a swirl of dust.

And then she was gone.

**...**

**_Friday, May 22nd, 1998; The Burrow, (Morning)_**

Dressed in a light blue tea-dress, Hermione stared out at the bright, mid-morning sun, and idly traced the rim of her cup.

The war was over. Ended. Done. Finished. And to think it had the day after she'd been freed from Malfoy Manor was astonishing. The day she'd been forced to leave Draco.

To celebrate, The Weasley's hosted a gathering each day, to take a three minute silence out of respect for those who lost their lives in battle, and for the survivors. Initially, Hermione had been happy, that everything was over and it could all go back to normal, but as time went, she'd grown worried.

Too much time had gone by, and that wasn't supposed to happen. He should've come to her by now.

In truth, those few weeks spent were Draco were probably the best she'd ever had. He was there to support her, protect her, and just love her. If he hadn't been there during that time, she was sure she never would have survived or recovered from such an ordeal. Permanently damaged without him.

A warm hand curved around her shoulder, and she sniffed, swiping at the tears she hadn't even realised were there. A light graze of lips skimmed her forehead, and she managed a smile as he sat down beside her. "You okay?"

She burrowed deeper into the jacket slung over her back. It was his jacket. "Not really, but thank you for your concern."

He sighed, and ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair. "It's going to be okay, Hermione, we _will _find him, or he'll find us. You just need to give it time."

"And three weeks isn't enough time?" She turned to Harry. "Surely, it wouldn't take that long to figure out where I am. After all, this was the place he'd sent me to."

_God, _that memory was painful. Day and night she'd be transported back to that cell, to the abuse she'd suffered, but the love she'd found, only for it to be torn away when Draco had sent her away that night, a promise of finding her again, which he was yet to do. She needed him.

Time. That was all she had to count on.

Even with that, however, it wasn't enough.

**...**

**_Wednesday, May 27th, 1998, (Evening)_**

"We've found him."

News like this would've made Hermione jump for joy, scream to the heavens, and just say a 'thank you' and 'finally', but she couldn't from the look on Harry's face, it was the different expression she would've expected. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She wasn't going to waste time. "What is it, Harry?" Her voice was urgent, strained, and she just _needed _an answer. "Spit it out."

Looking down, he took off his glasses and mumbled dejectedly, "His body." Her heart stopped. Her breath clogged in her throat. "We've found his body."

From then, all she could remember was the gut-wrenching screams being torn from her mouth.

**...**

A killing curse to the chest. Delivered by Antonin Dolohov. Finished within a few seconds.

This was her goodbye. Something she'd never considered doing before, but the weird thing was – once time had swelled and he still hadn't shown, there had been this dark, depressing thought in the deep crevice in her mind that this _could _be possible. That, somewhere, he would be lying on the ground, raw and unmoving.

The only difference was that how he looked was in complete contrast to how he looked in her head. There he was covered in blood and slaughtered, but here there were no scars. No marks on his pale skin. Not even a drop of fear on his features. And because of that knowledge, she wondered what his last thought was, what aided him with remaining calm, and what...gave that sense that it was _okay _that he was about to die.

For Hermione, she would always blame it on herself. That was what happened with the ones they loved.

"There isn't even an explanation, an answer as to why this happened," she said in a broken voice, choking on a sob. "Dolohov may have been given life in Azkaban, but that isn't _justice._ I know we've won our own battles before, Draco, but I'm sorry that we lost this one."

What was worst was that he'd told her he loved her, where she _did _carry those feelings for him, too, but she'd had no chance to tell him. Salty tears dropped on the sheet that he was lying on, and she brushed his fringe away from his closed eyes. She had to say it now, or she'd regret it for the rest of her living days. "I – I love you, Draco. It – it might be pointless to say it now, but I need to say it. Because I do. I did the first time you lost your temper with me." She breathed a light laugh. "Sounds strange, I know, but I believed underneath that anger, you cared. You _really _cared."

It felt as if her soul was breaking, falling down into the stark, empty abyss, but at the same time, it fought for strength, refusing to be beaten so easily. She could do this; it would be hard, but it wasn't the end – more an interval that maybe she'd pull through, or maybe she wouldn't. The future was unpredictable.

A shaky smile graced her lips, and she gave him three kisses; one to his forehead, one to his Dark Mark, and one to his cold lips. "Sleep now, Draco."

**~ END ~**

* * *

**Thank you so much for taking the time to read this fanfic! It took so much longer than I initially believed, but I'm quite happy with the outcome. I understand Draco's death was not shown, but no matter, I already have a side-on planned showing that moment. Not quite yet, though.**

**Please, please, drop a review. It really helps my muse and continue writing with my other fics (which, I now have three others on the go), and it just really puts a smile on my face. So, in advance, I say – _thank you!_**


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